Where minarets pierce the amber sky,
And domes hold centuries in their breath,
We wandered, unhurried, hand in hand,
Through empires that refused to meet their death.
The palace whispered of sultans and gold,
Its courtyards heavy with stories untold,
While mosques draped in blue, in reverence stood,
We lingered longer than perhaps we should.
And the water, oh, the water again,
Like once in the desert, on a birthday night,
Destiny gave us a city from the sea,
Shimmering in the light.
Every evening pulled us to the same stone street,
The cobbles warm beneath our restless feet,
Simit in the air, the lamplights aglow,
A ritual we made our own and slow.
Rose-scented sweetness melting on the tongue,
Wrapped in sugar, delicate and young,
And mornings unhurried, tea and honey, and cream and bread,
The day not yet begun, still soft with what was said.
In the hush between the calls to prayer,
I felt it again, you, constant, there.
My compass hasn’t shifted, hasn’t swayed,
In every city, the same hand, unafraid.
The city by Bosporus did not ask us to stay
Yet something of us remained anyway.